At first I stayed home with her every night, keeping her company or just being around when she didn’t want to talk or do anything. We soon discovered that our mutual interests were close to nil, and we quickly ran out of things to talk about. One particular evening made it obvious to me that our relationship really had no grounding, no foundation. We’d halfheartedly discussed the idea of dressing up and going out on a real date, something we hadn’t done in months, and when the night rolled around we both went through the motions of dressing and preparing as though we were going to a funeral. Suddenly Dianne stopped and looked at me as I wrestled with a necktie. Feeling her stare, I looked at her and saw in her eyes what she was going to say.

“Pointless, huh?” I said. She nodded. I stood in front of the mirror, feeling awkward. “Don’t feel like even attempting it? ‘Fake it till you make it’ and all that? We might get into it once we get going.” I brightened my face and smiled. “Dinner, theatre, painting the town red … ” I gave it all I could, but I wasn’t even convincing myself.

She tilted her head to one side and smiled sadly. “Points for effort.”

“Dianne, look,” I began, putting my arms around her. It had been a long time since I’d done even this simple gesture, and it felt forced. I realized, sadly, that it was forced. “Things might not be going the way we want them to, but every couple has their hard times, right? It doesn’t mean we can’t get through it.”

She laughed. It sounded almost genuine. “You’re kidding, right?” she said, pulling out of my half-embrace and crossing the room to the closet. She pulled off the dress as though she hated it. “If we had a future as a couple, then maybe you’d be right. But we don’t. We’ve never even been a couple. We’ve been … masquerading as one. That’s what we’ve been faking—a relationship. Admit it: we’ve never been serious. We’ve been exclusive, but that’s not the same thing.”

I watched her undress, stick the dress back on the hanger, and pull on the pajamas she’d been spending so much time in. I was angry, but not at her. It wasn’t her fault, and she hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. That’s what I was angry about. I had been lying to myself, had allowed myself to believe the lies. She was right, and had I been honest with myself I would have known it long before. How could I have let myself—both of us—get into such deep denial?